


The Spirit and the Slipper

by monkeysrool75



Series: DoroPetra Week 2020 [6]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cinderella Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-22 20:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysrool75/pseuds/monkeysrool75
Summary: Doropetra Week Day 6Fragile“That took an unexpected turn of events”Fairy Tale AU~The crestless Dorothea is left with her abusive father and sisters after the passing of her mother.  One day her life will change forever when the meets a magical being who helps her get to the ball celebrating the visit of the Brigidian royal family.A Cinderella Story.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary
Series: DoroPetra Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654231
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29
Collections: Doropetra Week 2020





	The Spirit and the Slipper

**Author's Note:**

> Fashionably late.

“Mother,” cried the young girl, fighting through sobs as she stood at the dying woman’s bedside. “Please! You can’t leave me!”  
“Dorothea.” Her mother’s voice was weak with sickness; her time was nearly out. “I’m afraid I can’t fight this much longer. I’ve... lived a fine life. For all the poverty, all the abuse, all that I never had... I’ve had you, and you’ve brought such light and love to my final years.”  
  
“But you can’t go now!” Dorothea insisted, tugging at her mother’s arm. “You’ll leave me all alone with them! Father... my sisters... they’ll...”  
  
Her mother shook her head. “I’ll need you to be strong, Dorothea.”  
  
“I... don’t know if I can,” the young girl sobbed.  
  
The dying woman ran her hand softly through her daughter’s hand, smiling gently. “I know it won’t be easy to move on,” she spoke softly. “But all you’ll need to do is stay true to your heart. Let your goodness shine bright, and the goddess will always smile upon you.”  
  
“Mother, I...” Dorothea began, but she trailed off when she saw that her mother had gone absolutely still, her last breath released. Her eyes widened as confusion, shock, fear, and an overwhelming sorrow overtook her all at once.  
  
“No!” she cried, falling to the floor and giving in to her sobs. “Mother!”  
  
She only barely registered the sound of the door creaking open. Fighting through the tears in her eyes, she looked up to see the man standing in the doorway—the man she loathed more than any. Her father cleared his throat.  
  
“So it’s done,” he muttered, not one hint of emotion in his voice.  
  
Dorothea stopped listening. She only wept harder. The last good thing in her world had slipped away from her today; life as she knew it was about to change forever.  
  


፠፠፠፠፠፠፠

Dorothea collapsed into the meager wooden chair sitting in the corner. She was exhausted from her day’s tasks. Dusting, washing the floor, cooking the food, washing the dishes, cleaning the clothes—name a chore and Dorothea was responsible for it. After her mother’s untimely passing, all of the work she’d been responsible for had been passed down to her daughter.

Dorothea’s father was an awful man, treating her mother the way he did, and now treating her in the same manner, all because she didn’t bear a crest. Her mother had been nothing more than that wretched man’s consort, and he’d immediately forgotten about her the moment Dorothea’s blood was tested. He’d gone on to copulate with two other women, having two more daughters—both crest bearers. They were his pride and joy, while Dorothea was nothing but the result of a fling with a houseworker. She despised him.

“Oh Dorothea,” her sisters, Evangeline and Penelope, called out in unison. Dorothea wanted to just ignore them—no one was supposed to bother her in her own little corner—but she knew that would only be worse for her in the long run.

“Yes?” she responded with the best fake smile she could muster.

“Don’t you have work to do?” Evangeline laughed.

“No,” she said, trying to keep the venom out of her voice, “I’ve finished for the day.”

“Really?” Penelope chimed in. “Because it looks like you missed a spot.” Dorothea knew that was wrong. She’d been cleaning this house every day for years; she knew it inside and out, and she absolutely could not have missed a spot.

Wait, where had Evangeline gone?

Before she could react, Dorothea was covered in cinders. Evangeline had grabbed the dustpan from the fireplace Dorothea had just spent the past hour cleaning and dumped the ashes all over her. She fought back tears as she heard her sisters laugh at her. Seething, she stood up and stormed out of the house, leaving a trail of soot behind her.

When she was sure her sisters weren’t around anymore, she let her tears fall as she ran toward the forest near the house. It was the only place she’d ever been able to go to find peace and solitude. The trees and underbrush were more welcoming to her than the inside of her home had ever been—and it so happened that the woods were home to the one person who’d ever cared about her.

Coming up on the familiar clearing, Dorothea slowed her pace. Dappled sunlight fell down on the meager pile of stones that marked her mother’s last resting place. Letting out a somber sigh, Dorothea fell to her knees before the grave.

Her father had not intended to have Dorothea’s mother buried. When she’d passed, he’d thought of her as a useless burden to be thrown out with the trash, not as a loved one to mourn and bury properly. So Dorothea had taken that duty upon herself. She’d buried her own mother here in this clearing, beside an old hazel tree.

“Mother,” she muttered, tears trickling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry... I know you told me to stay strong, but... it’s just so hard to hold on. There’s no hope for me in this world. I’ll never be anything, never go anywhere... I’m stuck, Mother. And nothing’s ever going to get better for me. It’s not.”

Falling silent, she looked up into the branches of the tree. She watched them sway in the wind, as if they might just lend her some kind of answer she was looking for. But they did not; it was only a tree, and her mother was gone. Nothing she could do would change that.

With a deep sigh, Dorothea rose to her feet. She gave one last bow of respect to her mother’s grave, then turned to trudge back home—back to her cruel reality.

She pushed the door gently open to find her father standing in the living room before the fireplace, gazing down at the mess of cinders with a brooding expression. When he heard the creak of the door that announced Dorothea’s entrance, he immediately whipped around toward her, a snarl on his face.

“You worthless piece of trash!” he barked, pointing an accusing finger at Dorothea. “I trust you to clean this fireplace, and after all this time, what do you make of it? Nothing but an infernal mess!” The man gritted his teeth. “You’re one sorry excuse for a housekeeper, brat! You’re more useless to keep around than that mother of yours who failed to bear me a daughter with a Crest!”

“Father, please!” Dorothea insisted, already feeling sobs rising back up within her. “Listen to me! I didn’t make this mess, I swear! I cleaned the fireplace just like you asked me to, but Evangeline took the dustpan and-”

“Evangeline?!” the man spat. “You dare blame her for your own worthlessness? Evangeline has made more of her life than you ever will! She has a Crest, a cultured temperament, a bright future! You...” He pointed toward the scattered ashes. “You have a job to do. Back to work with you!”

The man stormed off, leaving Dorothea alone with her desperate sorrow. She got down on her knees to begin the demeaning task that lie before her. It’s all I’m good for, after all, she thought.

As she swept, Dorothea’s ears eventually picked up a conversation in the next room over. Unable to keep herself from eavesdropping, she turned her head to listen as Penelope spoke: “Please, Father! Can we go?”

“Of course you can, my darlings,” came her father’s doting response. “Two gorgeous, well-mannered, Crest-bearing nobles like you would make quite the statement at the ball.”

Ball? Dorothea’s ears perked up at the sound of the word. They mean... a grand celebration? Her mind went into a tizzy, imagining beautiful gowns, sonorous music, grandiose feasts, slow-dances with dashing princes... all things she was never destined to experience. What would it be like if she could live that life, if only for one night?

“Oh, Dorothea,” a voice suddenly called out, snapping her out of her reverie. She looked up to see Evangeline and Penelope glaring down at her. “I don’t see you finishing your chores!”

For once, Dorothea decided to ignore their teasing. She was too curious about the ball. She rose to her feet, dusting ashes off her knees as she stood, and confronted them.

“What was it I just heard you talking to Father about?” she asked.

Penelope snorted. “As if you’d have any reason to know!”

“Oh, what could it hurt, Penelope?” Evangeline said. “She can hear the details if she wants them. Not like she ever has a chance of going!”

“Fine,” said Penelope, scoffing. Then her expression morphed into a cruel grin. “Well, if you’re so keen to know,” she said to Dorothea, “Father, Evangeline, and I have been invited to a celebration so grandiose that it would blow your poor, uncultured mind. The royal family of Brigid is coming to Adrestia for a diplomatic visit, and to celebrate their arrival, a grand masquerade ball has been planned!”

“Every noble worth anything is going to be attending!” Evangeline chimed in. “Crest-bearing families and their young, handsome sons! Not to mention those exotic Brigidian royals... oh, I’m surely going to snag a dance or two!”

“That she is,” came her father’s voice as he strode through the doorway. “I see this as an opportunity to plant the foundations of the perfect marriages for my dear Evangeline and Penelope. As for you, you swine...” His proud expression shifted to one of derision as he glared at Dorothea. “You’ve barely made a dent in that mess. Back to work!”

“No, Father,” said Dorothea, finding the courage within her to stand up to him for once. “I want to go to the masquerade with my sisters. Please, allow me to.”

At first, her father’s eyes widened in shock; the audacity of his Crestless daughter had blindsided him. But soon his surprise evolved into caustic laughter. “You, at a ball?” he howled. “I’d sooner bring in a mangy dog on a tattered leash! Look at you now, all covered in ash! You expect to be remotely fit for a ball anytime soon? That’s a laugh!”

“Father, please,” Dorothea insisted, ignoring his insulting remarks. “I bear the family name, just like my sisters. I deserve to go, too! Give me a chance, Father! If you let me do anything besides menial chores, maybe I could show you what I’m worth!”

The man only sneered. “You know what?!” he spoke in a mocking tone. “I have a proposition, you worthless wench. Find a way to give yourself a Crest, and I’ll take you along!”

Dorothea’s mouth fell open. “But... you can’t be serious! Those who weren’t born with Crests can’t ever...”

Her father threw his arms out. “Then, if you want to go so badly, why not be the first?! You say you’d like to prove something to me? Make history, why don’t you!”

Dorothea shook her head, already beginning to regret standing up to her father. “I’m sorry. I can’t-”

“If you wanted your life to mean anything to me,” he snarled, interrupting her, “then you should’ve been born with a Crest!”

The cruel man took his leave, and his Crest-bearing daughters followed closely behind, giggling as they slipped through the doorway. Dorothea let out a lugubrious sigh as she stared back down at the scattered cinders, picking up her broom and dustpan. He’s right, after all, she thought somberly. I’ve got no Crest. I’m only good for sweeping up messes, not balls and princes...

፠፠፠፠፠፠፠

The masquerade was tonight, and Dorothea had done her day’s chores faster than she ever had before—she was on a mission. She sat in the library frantically scanning through any and all books her father had on Crest research. In the stack of books she’d already read she hadn’t found anything and she was starting to lose the little hope she had in the first place. She shut the book in her hands and began looking through the library’s massive collection for any book she may have missed.

That’s when something caught her eye—a book she hadn’t noticed before. The spine didn’t have a title on it, just an odd ancient-looking symbol of what appeared to be an eye in a circle surrounded by vines. Dorothea carefully plucked it from the shelf. It looked like it would fall apart at any moment; several pages were already coming loose. Yet it gave her hope.

Its title was mysterious: “Agarthan Crest Research.”

She slowly opened it, and her eyes scanned the pages. Everything was written by hand—this wasn’t any book, it was a researcher’s notebook. She flipped through the pages until some words caught her eye: “Second Crest implantation successful.” She backed up several pages to read from the beginning.

“Subjects 3, 7, and 11 all failed today. That only leaves subject 9 left.” Dorothea skipped ahead a bit more. “Subject 9 continues to be taking the serum well. We’ll conduct a test tomorrow.” She turned the page. “Subject 9’s test results came back positive. Second Crest implantation successful.”

Dorothea couldn’t help but smile. She’d found something that said all but confirmed that crest implantation was a possibility. It had been done before; surely there was a way it could be done to her! Her years pain and suffering could finally come to an end, and she could finally be worth something.

“My lovely daughters,” she heard her father speak in the next room, “are you ready for the ball?”

“Father!” Dorothea called out as she ran to him, “I’ve found it! I’ve found a way to get a Crest!” She held the book to him. He took it, looked it over, and scoffed.

“Look at this tattered tome! You expect anything of worth to come from this?”

“But, Father, it’s full of research notes describing a successful crest implantation!”

“A fairytale!” he sneered. He glanced over to the burning embers in the fireplace with a smirk on his face. “A waste of all our time. Allow me to dispose of it for you.”

“Wait!” Dorothea cried, but it was too late. He’d tossed her one chance at a better life into the flames. “No!” she screamed, frantically reaching into the fire after it, pulling it out and desperately trying to quell the blaze. Tears ran down her face as her hands burned and scarred, but she didn’t care. When the flames were finally gone, it was too late; the book was unreadable.

“Covered in cinders again, Dorothea?” she heard Evangeline mock. Penelope’s laughter joined in with her sister’s.

“Come girls, let’s get to the ball,” her father said, ignoring the weeping girl with charred hands beneath him.

፠፠፠፠፠፠፠

Dorothea had been left behind, all alone, relegated to more mindless chores while her sisters and father went out for the night of their lives at the ball. Her hands were charred with burns, and the pain brought tears to her eyes with every smallest movement of her fingers. Why had she thought she had any chance of convincing her father that she was anything but a nuisance—a Crestless wench without a future? For all her life, he’d been telling her nothing but that; why had she been foolish enough to think that some book would convince him otherwise?

There was only one thing to do now.

Dorothea walked somberly through the woods, head hung low, ruined hands at her sides. When she came upon her mother’s grave, she stood and stared for what felt like forever.

What will I do now, Mother? she thought. I’ve really messed this up now. I don’t even think I can carry on…

A thought entered her head outside of her own volition, yet not unwelcomely. Dorothea imagined herself buried beside her mother in this clearing, sleeping forever amid the tranquility of the forest while the hazel tree watched over her. Would that not be a better fate than the dismal life of squalor and subservience that stood ahead of her, unable to be changed?

“My sweet... what’s wrong?”

Dorothea started as the voice came, seemingly out of nowhere. It was female, with a warm and comforting tone that reminded her all too much of her mother’s. After all the years she’d talked to her mother in this clearing, had she finally replied?

“Mother?!” she cried, excitement creeping through her tone. But as she looked around her—front, back, and side to side—she saw no one there.

Sighing, thinking herself an idiot to have imagined something so silly, she stared back down at her ruined hands.

“Dorothea, look up.”

The voice had returned! Dorothea glanced upward, then gasped at what she saw—a woman was sitting in the branches of the hazel tree! She was clothed in brightly-colored robes that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight; in fact, the entirety of her seemed to shimmer with an aura of radiance. She was beautiful from head to toe, with nut-brown hair to her shoulders and gorgeous chestnut eyes that radiated warmth and generosity.

“Wh-who are you?!” Dorothea blurted, stepping backward—the woman’s sudden appearance had taken her by surprise. But she paused mid-step; she suddenly knew she didn’t need to back off, because she could feel the goodness that emanated from the woman in the tree. Her presence was calming, reassuring, and nurturing.

“There, there,” said the glowing being, sliding down effortlessly from the branches to the ground—no, Dorothea realized; she was floating several inches off the grass! “You need not worry, my dear. I mean you no harm; in fact, just the opposite.” She smiled brilliantly. “You may call me Manuela. I have been watching over you for a while, Dorothea. You see, I’m the spirit who lives in this hazel tree.”

“You’re... a spirit?” Dorothea stammered. “Like a ghost?”

Manuela shook her head. “Now, now. There’s an important difference, my sweet. We spirits do not haunt and frighten. You can think of us as... patrons. Ethereal beings watching over the material world, listening to the woes and wishes of humans. For many years I was bound to this spot, with no one paying me any mind... so my affairs in the material world were all but nonexistent. But your frequent visits to this spot, this tree, energized me with the power of your emotions. Everything you have felt here—grief, joy, sorrow, peace—has nourished me. I owe you more of a debt than any spirit could hope to owe one person, Dorothea. My thanks to you are boundless.”

“M-Manuela,” Dorothea stuttered, stepping gingerly closer. “I... had no idea. I’m so sorry I was frightened by you at first.” She shook her head in wonderment. “I never thought I’d meet something... someone like you. My father dismisses things like spirits as fairytales... useless fantasies.”

Manuela smirked playfully. “But he is wrong,” she stated. Then the beautiful spirit looked down, taking in the sight of Dorothea’s flame-scarred hands, and a frown spread over her face. “My dear Dorothea, your hands are woefully hurt. How in the world did such a thing happen to you?”

Dorothea held up her arms, her hands shaking as the movement pained them. “It was... my father,” she muttered, shame running through her as she recalled what had happened earlier that day. “He... refused to let me go to a ball because I’m worthless to him. Because I don’t have a Crest like my sisters. He always tells me I don’t have a future, that I’m not good for anything but menial housework. So... I found a book that I thought might help me get a Crest. When I showed it to him, he scoffed and said it was useless junk. He tossed it into the fireplace right in front of me. I thought... I was watching my last hope burn up, so I jumped in after it. I tried to stop it from burning. I... was an idiot, Manuela, and now my hands... they’re...”

“Dorothea, enough,” Manuela said calmly. “You’re no idiot. And you deserve so much more than life has handed you.” Then the spirit’s expression shifted from sadness to a gleeful smirk. “But you’re lucky. You have a spirit here to help you now.”

“You’ll... help me?”

Manuela only smirked, waving her arm through the air. In a flash of light, a white baton took form in her hand, tipped with a ball of glowing energy, like a miniature sun.

“Bhibidii-babhadei-bhuu!” she intoned.

“Bippity-boppity-what?” exclaimed Dorothea, but what happened next took precedence over the odd words right away. Her hands were glowing! The pain dissipated almost immediately, and then, when the glow receded, they were healed.

“M-Manuela!” she exclaimed, unable to keep from smiling. “You healed my hands!”

“It’s the very least I could do for you, dear,” the spirit replied kindly.

“What were those words?” Dorothea asked, her curiosity running rampant.

“An invocation in the tongue of the spirits,” Manuela explained. “My kind refer to them as the Words of Power. A key that opens the lock of magic, one could say. For spirits, words are far more than a means of communication... they have a power all their own.”

Dorothea looked up at Manuela, eyes wide with fascination. “Manuela, there’s something you have to do for me!” she exclaimed. “Please, give me a Crest!”

But Manuela shook her head. “Dorothea, I know how much you desire one, but even a spirit cannot safely lend a Crest to a person without one. The process is unnatural, and unbelievably dangerous.”

“I don’t care how dangerous it is!” Dorothea pleaded. “If there’s even the smallest chance it could work, I... I need it! If it doesn’t... well, then, I’d be better off dead anyhow.”

Manuela hummed a singsong tune of warning. “It is nothing I would ever allow myself to go through with, my sweet.”

Dorothea hung her head. “Then... I’m doomed to this life forever,” she muttered. “Healed hands or not... I’ll always be trash. Worthless, Crestless refuse, no better than the dust and ashes I sweep up every day...”

She looked back up to see Manuela smiling. Dorothea’s mouth hung open in confusion.

“What if I told you that needn’t be true?” Manuela said. “Crest or no Crest, there’s something else I can do for you. Rest assured that it will change your life.”

Dorothea blinked twice. “I... don’t follow.”

“Dorothea, darling,” said Manuela, twirling her wand in her hand. “I can get you to that ball.”

Dorothea’s mind raced as she contemplated what Manuela had just told her. The ball?! But there was no way!

“Manuela, how in the world are you going to do that?” Dorothea asked. “I... have no place at that ball.”

“You have every right to be there, darling,” Manuela assured her. “Your heart and soul are more beautiful by far than that of your sisters or any other stuck-up noble who’ll be there.”

“But... a beautiful heart isn’t enough to help me fit in there,” Dorothea muttered resignedly.

“That’s where I come in,” Manuela said. “I have more than enough magic at my disposal to cover for the rest of your needs.” She rested her wand under her chin, thinking for a moment. “Let me think, dear... the first thing you’ll need is a ride to the party. A fast, reliable set of wheels that will get you there in time... and in style.”

“You can make me a carriage?” Dorothea asked.

“The only thing I’ll need is something to start with,” the spirit explained. “Something sturdy, hardy, thick...”

Dorothea smiled. “Manuela, follow me. I think I have the perfect thing.”

፠፠፠፠፠፠፠

“It’s just this way!” Dorothea called out as she rounded the corner of her family’s estate. Manuela had been floating behind her, following all the way out of the woods. Now, as the spirit beheld what Dorothea had taken her all the way to see, she couldn’t help but giggle a little.

“A squash, dear?” Manuela asked, observing the pumpkin that was growing in the vegetable garden behind the house. “I was thinking something more along the lines of a pile of wood.”

Dorothea flushed slightly. “I... should have thought harder. It seemed right.”

“It will do,” said Manuela with a sigh. She raised her baton, and once again, out came the magic words. There was a storm of dancing light so bright Dorothea had to shield her eyes... and then, when she opened them again, the most gorgeous, ornate carriage stood before her.

“Manuela!” she exclaimed, smiling widely. “It worked!”

“Rather pumpkin-shaped, if I do say so myself,” Manuela teased. “But it will get you there all the same. As long as we have two worthy horses and a keen driver.”

“Can you make those, too?” Dorothea asked.

“Child’s play,” the spirit replied confidently. As she twirled her wand in the air, it began to make a sound like a bell. In response, two mice and a rat came scurrying out from underneath the house’s foundation, drawn to the sonorous tones like charmed snakes.

“These three will work wonderfully,” Manuela said, and with another swing of her wand and an ensuing light-storm, the three lowly creatures were gone. In their place stood two beautiful white horses and a stately young man in a suit and top hat.

“At your service,” he said, tipping his hat to expose a shock of silver hair. “Call me Ashe.”

“Manuela, all of this is amazing!” Dorothea exclaimed.

“But there’s one thing missing,” Manuela said. “You need some new threads, darling.”

“O-of course,” stammered Dorothea, looking herself up and down. In the sight of all of these gorgeous things, she’d almost forgotten she was still dressed in her meager, soot-covered clothes. “What do I need to bring you this time?”

“The clothes on your back will do, my sweet,” said Manuela with a wink. “Now, ready?”

Dorothea nodded. “Take it away.”

Manuela tilted her wand, and with one last incantation of those magical words, Dorothea found that she herself was in the center of a swirling vortex of light. She felt her clothes dissolve, then reform around her. When the spectacle ceased, she gasped—she was wearing a gorgeous ball gown that glistened in the sunlight. She felt her hair; it, too, had been made more beautiful than ever, styled and shimmering. There was not one trace of cinder on her body.

“Oh, my,” she stammered, covering her face in shock. She thought she might cry tears of joy. “Manuela, this is the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“And the fun has only just begun,” the spirit said playfully. “But there’s one thing you should know. These transformations will not last forever. At midnight tonight, everything will revert to its original state. Do not let that catch you off guard. If I were you, I’d make preparations to leave the ball well before that happens.”

Dorothea nodded. “I... understand.”

“Now, off to the ball with you, darling!” Manuela said, pointing toward the waiting carriage. Dorothea nodded, stepping forward—only to find herself nearly tripping. She glanced down; how had she failed to notice the high-heeled glass slippers Manuela had swapped out her shoes for?

“And be careful in those heels,” Manuela warned.

Dorothea chuckled. “I... I will.”

“Have a lovely night!” the benevolent spirit called out as Dorothea stepped into the carriage, gasping in delight as she took in its decadent interior. She seated herself on the luxurious cushions and faced Ashe through the front window.

“No need for directions,” he said slyly. “I know the way.”

“Thank you, Ashe,” Dorothea said. “Let’s go to the ball!”

With a flick of his reins, Ashe started the carriage moving. They turned around the house and onto the street, heading for the heart of Enbarr where the festivities would soon be commencing. Dorothea relaxed, looking out the window as the scenery rolled by. Tonight was going to be the most thrilling night of her life—and, as of yet, her father and sisters were none the wiser.

፠፠፠፠፠፠፠

The carriage pulled up to the front of the imperial palace. Ashe opened the door and offered his hand to Dorothea as she climbed out of her magical ride. She stood in awe of the grandiose building in front of her. Not only was it ornate in its own right, but it was decorated beautifully for tonight’s ball.

“I must be dreaming…” she muttered to herself.

“I’ve been thinking the same thing, Miss Dorothea,” Ashe piped up. “Not an hour ago, I was scurrying through the forest looking for scraps, but look at me now!” He cleared his throat and tried to regain his demeanor as a stage-coach driver. “I’ll be waiting to pick you up when you’re ready to leave.”

“Thank you, Ashe. You have some fun tonight as well, okay?”

“Yes, Miss Dorothea!” he replied. “Oh! One last thing.” He handed her a beautiful crimson mask with feathers peaking off of the top and scrambled back onto the carriage, driving away.

Dorothea put the mask on and walked down the red carpet into the halls of the Palace, guards politely nodding to her along the way. The music grew louder, and the grand doors of the ballroom opened to a sea of dancing and laughter.

“Excuse me, madam,” a strong masculine voice called out to her. “Might I have this dance?”

“Y-yes!” She could hardly contain her excitement. “Yes, you may!”

Dorothea danced the night away, trading partners in between dances and feeling happier than she had in years. After a waltz with a very kind nobleman, someone tapped on her shoulder, grabbing her attention.

“If you would be having me,” a feminine voice spoke, “I would like to be dancing with you.”

“Of course,” Dorothea said. The woman wore a maroon feline mask on her face, and what appeared to be traditional Brigidian wears. She must have been a page sent along with the Brigidian royal family. The music began, and so did their dance.

“I am not having understanding why, but I have been feeling drawn to you all of tonight. I have been trying to be dancing with you sooner, but so many others have been occupying you.”

“Well, I’m glad we’re dancing now.”

“I am being called Petra,” she stated. “What may I be calling you?”

Dorothea wasn’t sure she should reveal her identity to anyone here, lest her family find her. “Now, Petra, this is a masquerade. Where’s the fun in revealing who you are?”

“Ah, I have apologies. I am not fully understanding Fódlish customs...”

Someone who doesn’t understand Fódlish customs? Someone who doesn’t care about crests? “It’s quite charming if you ask me,” Dorothea whispered into her ear. The Brigidian’s girl’s blush was apparent even behind her mask, and Dorothea couldn’t help but smile. Out of everyone she’d danced with that night, this Brigidian page was by far her favorite.

The song came to an end, but instead of trading partners, Petra didn’t let go of Dorothea’s hands.

“I am thinking I would like to be spending more time with you—to be getting to know you.” Petra’s smile radiated beneath the mask.

“I’d like that a lot, Petra.”

The two snuck out of the crowded ballroom and made their way to a secluded terrace in the palace garden. They sat together staring up at the stars, finding shapes and patterns. Petra told grand stories of Brigid and the beautiful sea surrounding it, and Dorothea was more than content to listen.

“Petra,” Dorothea said, smiling. “Brigid sounds like a lovely place.”

“Oh, it is.” Her masked face basked in the moonlight. Dorothea felt her heartbeat quicken as she looked at Petra. She hadn’t really spent time with anyone outside her family, but to think someone as wonderful as the girl next to her would like her—crestless and all—she’d truly never been happier.

“I was having thought,” Petra stated with a slight sense of fear in her voice, “I am knowing you spoke about the customs of a masquerade, but I would have the most gratitude if you would be allowing me to see your face.”

Dorothea’s face lit up a bright crimson. She didn’t have to ponder an answer for too long. No one was around, and she felt a special connection to Petra, so surely it couldn’t hurt.

But right as she touched her mask to remove it, she heard the first grand ring from the clock tower.

“Oh, Goddess, when did it get to be so late!?” she cried, standing up, “I’m so sorry, Petra. I have to go.”

“W-wait!” Petra cried out as Dorothea ran away from her as fast as she could.

At the second ring, Dorothea had made it to the stairs, and she frantically descended them.

“Damn it!” she yelled as she tripped. She caught herself just in time as she continued down, but left one of her slippers behind in the process. She never had really gotten used to walking in such shoes, beautiful as they might have been.

“Please, be waiting!” Petra called out to her again, “I am not even knowing your name!”

At the third ring of the clock tower, Dorothea had already boarded her carriage. Ashe drove her off into the night.

The fourth, fifth, and sixth rings hit as they hurried down the street.

At the seventh and eighth rings, her dress became nothing more than the tatters she’d begun with.

The ninth ring, and the carriage began to shrink back down to a pumpkin.

The tenth rings, and the horses transformed into mice.

The eleventh ring, and Ashe changed back into a silver-furred rat.

The twelfth, and Dorothea was back in her bed.

፠፠፠፠፠፠፠

Petra was crestfallen. As the masquerade went on into the night, she ceased to dance with anyone else or make any other attempts to socialize; the only person on her mind was the girl who’d suddenly run away from her without an explanation. Everything about her lingered in Petra’s memory — her beautiful dress, her flowing hair, her joyous and kind personality. But her face and name were a mystery.

The one thing the mystery woman had left behind was a glass shoe.

Curse these Fódlanese traditions of masks and secrecy, she thought to herself as she climbed the stairs to the guest room that had been set aside for her in the palace, cradling the fragile slipper. She retired for the night, sleeping with the shoe on her bedside table.

Next morning, Petra woke up early and began to roam the grounds of the palace. She had a plan, but she would need the help of the Adrestian officials if she wanted it to succeed. Coming upon a guard making his morning patrol of the palace walls, Petra ran up to greet him.

“Hello!” she called. “You! Are you being occupied?”

“N-no,” said the startled guard, straightening at the sight of the palace’s guest. “Did you... need anything, ma’am?”

“Please, be calling me Petra,” she insisted. “And I am needing something with much direness.” Petra held up the mysterious glass slipper, presenting it to the guard. “Last night, at the masquerade, I was meeting someone who was... filling my heart full. A woman of Adrestia who had much charm and gracefulness. But she was not telling me her name, and before I could be asking her what she was called or who she was, she was running away with much quickness. This was being the only thing she was leaving behind.”

The guard tilted his head, trying to process everything Petra had said. “So... you need to find her identity, but the only lead you’ve got is a shoe?”

Petra nodded. “That is indeed being the situation.”

“Well,” mused the guard, “I’m certain she could be found simply enough if we were to contact everyone who attended the ball last night and see whose foot fits this shoe. It looks... uncannily small. Surely there aren’t too many noblewomen who could wear something like this.”

Petra’s face lit up. “Are you thinking that this action would have possibility?”

The guard nodded. “It’s the least we could do for the Princess of Brigid... your highness.”

But the fuchsia-haired girl shook her head. “As I was saying, please, be calling me Petra.”

፠፠፠፠፠፠፠

Dorothea awoke, stretching her arms as she rose off of the worn cot that was her bed. Last night’s splendor was a world away; now, as she lay there, once again dressed in rags and covered in cinders, it seemed like nothing more than a distant dream. Was that all it had really been? It made more sense to think that she’d dreamed it than to believe she’d honestly gone to the masquerade.

Yet the Brigidian girl had seemed so real. The way she danced with such poise and grace, her warm tone and honest words. Getting to know Petra had been the most thrilling experience of her life — or, at least, it had seemed that way. But what did it matter if she’d been real or not? The ball had been only one night, and Petra was only a Brigidian page, sure to be sailing off to her homeland with the rest of the royal entourage. Dorothea would never see her again.

A tiny squeak alerted her, and Dorothea leaned off her cot to see a gray rat poking around, seemingly trying to get her attention. She couldn’t help but smile; the creature was certainly cute. But then Dorothea remembered something.

“Ashe?” she asked. The rat immediately perked up, standing up on its haunches to face her. “It’s really you, isn’t it!” Dorothea said happily. But Ashe wasn’t just content to hear his name. He scurried off several feet, then turned back toward Dorothea, tail twitching as if to say ‘Follow me!’

“You... want to lead me somewhere?” Dorothea murmured. She stepped off her cot and padded toward the silvery rat, who continued on his way as soon as he was certain that the girl was following.

Ashe led Dorothea to the back entrance of the house, then paused, squeaking insistently. She looked down, and what she saw then took her breath away.

“My glass slipper!” she cried, bending down to pick up the crystalline shoe that rested by the door where, evidently, she’d slipped it off last night. “So... it did happen.” It could not have been a dream if she still had one slipper. The carriage, the masquerade, Petra — everything had been real!

Then she remembered one last thing.

“I lost the other,” she muttered to herself. “The one thing I could have kept after all that magic faded away... and I don’t even have a complete pair.”

Suddenly, Ashe began to squeak frenziedly, and Dorothea turned just in time to see him running off, disappearing around the corner. Then she heard the sound that had evidently alerted him: someone was knocking at the front door.

፠፠፠፠፠፠፠

Dorothea’s father pulled the door open groggily, expecting little from whoever had knocked. But when he found himself facing an entourage of Adrestian guards flanking a well-dressed Brigidian of clear importance, his eyes widened.

“G-good morning,” he stammered, trying his best to be polite. “Whatever is the occasion for such a visit... my lady?”

“You may be calling me Petra,” said the tanned, fuchsia-haired woman, giving a short bow. “I am being the Princess of Brigid. Are you being the one called Bertrand Arnault?”

Princess?! he thought, his mind racing. He straightened and gave a curt nod. “Yes, that’s me... your highness!”

“Just Petra is being alright,” the princess replied.

“M-my apologies,” he stammered.

“We are escorting her hi — Petra to your household,” a guard spoke up, “because we were informed that you and your daughters attended the masquerade last night, Mr. Arnault. Petra is seeking to administer an... unusual test upon them, if she may.”

Not one to refuse royalty, Arnault nodded. “Of course. Bring it on, unusual or no.”

“Very well,” the guard said. “Procure your daughters. Petra will give them the details.”

Arnault raced into the foyer to call Evangeline and Penelope, but the two girls were already on their way down the stairs, having been eavesdropping throughout the commotion. Before he could say a word, his daughters brushed past him to face the Brigidian princess and her guards.

“Good morning,” Petra said, already beginning to size up the girls.

“It’s such an honor to have you at our doorstep, Your Highness!” Evangeline fawned, curtsying toward Petra.

Penelope mirrored her action. “What kind of test do you have for us today?” she asked.

Petra held up something she’d been carrying at her side. When the girls saw what it was, both furrowed their brows in confusion.

“A... shoe?” said Evangeline.

“A shoe of much specialness,” Petra replied. “A shoe that is having an owner somewhere in this land of much vastness. I am looking for someone who can be fitting her foot into it, to be proving she is being the one who was wearing it to the ball.”

“And what happens to the one who can fit into the shoe?” Penelope asked, greed already beginning to light up her eyes.

Petra shook her head. “That is concerning only me and the one who can be wearing it.”

Penelope and Evangeline clearly recognized that the glass slipper was not theirs. Neither had worn such a thing to the ball last night, but the conditions of the test — as well as whatever mysterious reward the princess might have for whoever could fit the slipper — were enough to ignite their avarice and curiosity. Surely more than one person in all of Adrestia could fit into this shoe! If either of them proved they could wear it before its rightful owner did, the royal reward would be theirs instead.

“Let me try it on first!” cried Penelope, pushing forward, only to be shoved aside by Evangeline, who shouted, “Not if I have a say in it!”

“Girls, be civil,” their father cautioned. “How about you first, Penelope? You’re the oldest, after all.”

Begrudgingly, Evangeline stepped aside to allow her sister to try on the slipper. Penelope smirked as she retrieved it from Petra, but her sly attitude faded away as soon as she saw the shoe; the catch of this seemingly simple test had revealed itself. The shoe was tiny. She already knew she had no chance of passing, but she gritted her teeth, determined to try anyhow.

“I am seeing clearly that you are not fitting this shoe,” Petra said moments later, as Penelope tried with all her might to force her foot into the tiny slipper.

“Fine!” Penelope snapped, foisting the shoe toward her sister. “Evangeline, you try!”

Evangeline had much better luck than Penelope, but it only got her so far. While her foot fit mostly into the shoe, her heel hung uncomfortably out of the back, refusing to slip all the way in.

“Look!” she cried nonetheless. “It fits me! It’s mine! Just... let me get my heel in! I swear, if you just give me one more second...”

But Petra shook her head. “It is not being your slipper if you can only be partly wearing it.”

Evangeline grunted in frustration, wrenching the shoe off her foot. “Stupid thing!” she cried as she tossed it idly away. Petra, Penelope, and Arnault gasped in unison as they watched the fragile slipper soar through the air and crash onto the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. An awful silence lingered in the air.

“Oh... no,” muttered Evangeline, her face going white.

Petra threw both hands over her mouth, eyes going wide in distress. “It... cannot have possibility,” she murmured. “That slipper... was being the last thing I was having from her... and now I cannot be finding her...”

“Your Highness, don’t fret,” the nearest guard spoke up. “There are surely other ways we can find the one you seek. We’ll try to think of something quickly.”  
Then, suddenly, Petra looked up, blinking rapidly, unable to believe her eyes. Past Penelope and Evangeline, rounding the corner and charging into the living room, was a third young woman with long chestnut hair, dressed in rags — yet somehow immediately familiar.

“Petra, wait!” Dorothea cried, running toward the door with a smile on her face.

“Dorothea? What are you doing here when you should be washing the dishes!?” Dorothea’s father cried. He turned to Petra and continued. “I’m sorry, your highness, please pay her no mind. She’s nothing more than a crestless kitchen wench one of my late consorts left behind.”

“I will be having the judgement of who I am to be paying mind,” Petra spoke proudly, a smile creeping its way onto her face. “I am having regret. I would be allowing you to try on the glass shoe, but it is now in many pieces.”

“It’s okay.” Dorothea held up the other glass slipper for all to see. “I have the other one right here.”

Dorothea’s three relatives stood awestruck before Evangeline piped up: “That took an unexpected turn of events.”

“Dorothea, was it?” Petra asked as she approached the girl. “After last night I cannot be imagining my life without you. I would be appreciating it greatly if you would be coming with me back to Brigid.”

“Petra,” Dorothea’s heart soared at the Brigidian’s words. “There’s nothing I’d like more.”

“Wonderful!” the princess called, grabbing Dorothea by the hands. “We will be leaving tomorrow morning with earliness! Or… is that being too soon?”

Dorothea looked to her family and back to Petra. “Leaving with you couldn’t come soon enough.”

፠፠፠፠፠፠፠

The following morning Dorothea took Petra to her mother’s grave to say goodbye before their journey to Brigid. Dorothea felt tears prick at her eyes as she knelt down in front of her mother.

“Hello, Mother.” Her voice wavered as she spoke. “I want you to know that you don’t need to worry about me anymore. I’ve found someone to take me away from Father and my sisters. She’s a very kind person who cares about me enough to search all of the Adrestian Empire just to see me again.” She couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. Petra really had gone through quite the ordeal just to see her again.

The Brigidian princess gave a short bow to pay her respects. “It was being an honor to be visiting you,” she spoke. “Your daughter has much kindness and beauty, and I am loving her very much. I will be looking after her with closeness.”

Suddenly, a warm glow began to shine through the air. Dorothea and Petra looked up to see Manuela sitting in the hazel tree, smiling down happily upon the two of them.

“Manuela!” Dorothea said happily.

“It’s so good to see that everything worked out for you, dear,” Manuela replied. “Look at you now! You went to the masquerade, you met someone special, and you’re free of that foul man’s clutches forever!”

“I have no idea how to thank you,” Dorothea muttered.

“There’s no need to repay me, Dorothea,” the spirit replied, shaking her head. “My work is complete, and I’m content to enjoy these good feelings you’re emanating. Enjoy the happy life ahead of you.”

Petra stepped forward, eyes wide. “You are... being a spirit!” she exclaimed, bowing in reverence. “In Brigid, we have great reverence for your kind. I have such gratitude that you were bringing Dorothea to me.”

Manuela winked. “Spreading joy is what we spirits do best.” She waved her wand, and slowly, she began to dissolve into rays of light. “Dorothea! Petra!” she called out as she vanished. “Have a wonderful journey and a beautiful life!”

For a moment, the two stood silently. Dorothea was sad to see Manuela go, but she knew that the spirit was happy to have had the chance to help her. Finally, Petra turned to her and spoke up.

“I should have been guessing that the spirits were having involvement in bringing us together,” Petra said. “After all, in Brigid, we are believing that the spirits are guiding each person toward the one they will be spending the rest of their life with.”

“I think this spirit did very well,” Dorothea said, taking Petra’s hand and squeezing it tightly. “And to think, all this time, that you were the princess of Brigid all along.” She paused, enjoying Petra’s smile. “Petra, why didn’t you tell me you were a princess?” she then asked.

Petra smirked. “It was being a masquerade. There is no fun in revealing who you are being.”

“Princess or no,” said Dorothea with a laugh. “I’m so glad it was you, Petra.”

Suddenly, Dorothea heard a faint squeaking at her feet. She glanced down to see a familiar rat pawing at her shoes.

“Eek!” Petra squealed. “Dorothea, be standing back! I will be scaring it off for you!”

“No!” Dorothea shouted. “His name is Ashe! He’s... a friend of mine.”

“Oh,” Petra replied. She squatted down to let Ashe wander over to her and inspect her. She extended a hand, and Ashe happily climbed on.

“He is being cuter than I was first realizing,” Petra said, standing back up and allowing Ashe to crawl up to her shoulder. “I have certainty that we can be taking him to Brigid with us.”

“I think that would be lovely, Petra,” Dorothea replied. She looked out toward the distance, watching the leaves blowing through the trees as a breeze kicked up. Ahead of her was a journey, and after that, a life of happiness. How had she ever come to deserve an ending like this? There was certainly some magic in this beautiful, unexpected twist, and not just the kind that turned pumpkins into carriages.

“Let us be departing,” Petra said, taking Dorothea’s hand. The two began down the path, together and happy, as they would be for years and years to come.

Needless to say, they lived happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> IDK why Ashe made it into two of our stories, but rat Ashe is precious and I just want to give him all the love and scritches he deserves.


End file.
